


Allies

by pirateherokillian (SassyEverlarking)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 13:04:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7533802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyEverlarking/pseuds/pirateherokillian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been just over ten years since Emma Swan won the Games, and her growing connection to fellow victor Killian Jones is something leading them into very dangerous territory. OUAT/THG crossover. Written for Day 1 of CS AU Week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Allies

**Author's Note:**

> So here’s my post for the Day 1 of CS AU Week. It’s certainly the first CS AU I’ve ever written, and only my third CS fic total, so I hope I’ve done it all justice here. I’ve taken lots of liberties with THG world to better fit to the Once characters. Also, this is purely Once fic set in THG universe, so sorry my HG followers - no Everlark here. I knocked this fic out in 24 hours and managed to change tenses about twenty different times while writing it, so I apologize for any mistakes I missed in editing (especially since it’s completely un-beta’d).
> 
> Warnings: Implications/mentions of forced prostitution. Alcohol and drug use mentions. Violence and a little bit of graphic imagery. For those used to Hunger Games fic set in the canon world, it’s the usual fare of unpleasantness

She sips from the glass in her hand, trying her best to not look as uncomfortable as she feels in the thin strips of fabric that are pretending to be a dress wrapped around her body. She is meant to look alluring, as she always has to the rabid sycophants meandering about the lavish room. But after more than ten years of being paraded out for the lust-hungry Capitol masses, Emma can’t muster much more than an elusive grin anytime somebody sizes her up and down. The promise of so much more, if they are willing to pay the right price. **  
**

She hates the weeks leading up to the reapings. When the deluded and privileged citizens decide to make the most of their existing crop of victors before they are all swept up in mentoring and securing sponsors for the poor souls entrusted to them. It’s nothing but an excuse for more extravagant parties, even though the same type of parties are held even during the Games.

‘What better way to secure your tribute’s future than a good fuck.’ She thinks bitterly, her mask of fake allure no doubt slipping. She tries to hide it behind another sip, hoping no one is the wiser to the her current feelings of distaste and distrust.

“Careful now, darling,” a lilting voice murmurs in her ear, just moments before the cold sensation of metal brushing up against her bare hip follows. “Some may think you’re not thoroughly enjoying yourself this evening.”

“Perish the thought.” She mutters back, mocking his accent, her glass still at her lips. She sips and then turns a glance on her companion.

Dressed in all black, eyes lined with kohl as they roam over the crowd, hair mussed in that usual way of his, Killian Jones looks as dashing as he had the first time she’d been introduced to him. Back then, she’d found him arrogant and obnoxious, the darling of the Capitol who seemed to bask in the glory of winning his games just a few short years before she’d won hers. He’d worn the same lazy sort of smile back then as he is now, but a decade’s worth of knowing him let Emma know just how fake it’s always been. She can see the slight haze in his eyes, a clear indication that any _enjoyment_ he is feeling is chemically induced.

He turns the smile towards her with a curious tilt of his eyebrow. “So are you on the market tonight or paid for goods advertising for future suitors?”

He means the question casually, from one victor to another, but Emma can see the anguish it causes him flashing in his bright blue gaze, even behind the drugged haze. It causes her heart to flutter the slightest bit, something she tries to hide behind a shrug. They can’t indulge such things and they both know it.

“Undecided. I’ve been told to mingle until payment can be confirmed.”

Killian nods all too knowingly, his focus returning to the room of prospective buyers. He assumes an even more casual stance, bringing his good hand to rest against the front of the lavish belt he wears. “Is it that Walsh fellow again?”

Again, the question is meant to be casual. And again, Emma can sense more behind it. She lets out a sigh and turns slightly towards him, her hand coming to rest on the curve of the hook taking up the space where his left hand once had been.

“Killian-”

“Ah, my two most successful victors…” An oily, accented voice interrupts her attempt to assuage Killian’s dangerous concern. Both turn their attention on the newest addition to their conversation, tensing at the presence of the most sadistic Head Gamemaker the Capitol had ever enlisted. Emma drops her hand from the hook slowly, hoping it would go unnoticed.

It doesn’t’. “Where’s there’s one of you, I’m always sure to find the other close by.”

“Rumplestitlskin.” Killian gives a dramatic bow, a show of respect to any unsuspecting Capitol citizen mingling nearby. Emma knows it is anything but. She hadn’t been a victor too long before she’d heard about Milah and Killian, and how Rumplestiltskin had gone to great lengths to bury the relationship of his wife and the famous victor out of District Four. Of how he’d been making Killian’s life hell since. “To what do we grateful victors owe this humbling encounter?”

Rumple merely offers a small smile in response. A knowing and malicious one that makes Emma’s heart thud faster in her chest. She resists the urge to step closer to Killian.

“Well, _Hook_ ,” his tone is light as he refers to Killian by the moniker the Capitol had come to know him by. It is such a sick and twisted thing, the way the people take pleasure in the grotesque manner Killian had managed to survive his Games. Emma lets her mind drift, still able to vividly recall watching the sea beast rip Killian’s left hand from his body. Could recall wanting so desperately to look away from the screen as he lashed a hook found in the supplies he’d gathered from the Cornucopia to his still bleeding wrist. He’d managed to use the thing as a weapon, along with a sword he’d picked up in the bloodbath, against fellow tributes and mutts alike, delirious with pain from his injury and blinded by the despair brought on by the death of his district partner - his older brother, Liam. It had been one of the bloodiest Games in a long time. The kind that had likely provided nightmares for kids for years. The kind they reshow often to remind the masses what a good tribute looked like.

It doesn’t surprise Emma in the slightest that the man self-medicates whenever he can. And to think she’d thought him to be arrogant…

She is snapped back to the present when Killian rocks on his heels, the largest fake grin splitting his lips wide. “I’m at the beck and call of those who have graced me with this blessed life.” He is laying it on thick for those who have gathered close to watch him. Emma hadn’t heard the details of why Rumple had sought Killian out, but he seems unfazed by whatever he is being paid to do that evening. She knows he is more than capable of handling himself, but unease still rests in her gut as their Head Gamemaker’s smile remains unchanged. He holds his ever-present cane in the direction he wishes Killian to follow.

Killian turns towards the crowd around them and waves his free hand. “Duty calls.” They all laugh ridiculously and she resists the urge to roll her eyes. He then turns towards her and offers a slight bow of his head. “Swan.” He says softly before he starts sauntering after the man selling him off for the night.

They don’t make it more than a few steps before Rumple stops and turns back towards Emma. “Miss Swan, I almost forgot.” Killian’s bravado slips a little at the halt and he turns slightly back towards her as well, his lips twisting downwards.

“Our Madame President asked me to tell you the payment went through,” Rumple’s tone is sickly innocent, as if he really had just forgotten to tell her and hadn’t clearly planned this from the moment he’d stepped up to the pair. “She insists you don’t hesitate to make yourself _useful_ to your favorite patron.”

Emma inclines her head in understanding, hoping her expression doesn’t expose the way she feels watching Killian glare angrily at the floor, his jaw clenched in suppressed anguish.

—–

She knows she should’ve locked her door the moment she’d returned from her duties as paid for victor. She knows that Killian will eventually find his way back to her the instant he is done with his own ‘duties’. It had been evident in his gaze the moment he’d stalked after Rumple at the party earlier. And she knows how bad that is for them both. She knows he wouldn’t have held it against her had she locked the door and thought of her own well being before anything else.

But she can’t. Not when Killian Jones, most sought after Capitol treasure, has worked his way behind her well-built walls. Not when she knows he’ll need her before the night was out.

So even though they both knew better, the door is unlocked and ready for Killian to come through. Which he does much later that evening, after she has washed herself of all the Capitol filth she can and settled down into the bed far too plush than is necessary. There is no knock. Just one disheveled man stumbling in without warning.

“Emma…” He slurs, swaying in place after struggling to get the door closed once more. She practically leaps up from the bed, rushing over to him and reaching out to his good hand. She slowly leads him to the edge of the mattress, turning only once to help steady him when he trips on the plush carpeting beneath his bare feet. Where his boots from earlier have gone, she’ll probably never find out.

“Emma…” He mumbles again, this time softer, sadder, after she’s eased him down to sit. He looks up at her, still swaying even as he sits, the blue of his eyes dulled behind god only knew what. The makeup lined around them is smudged everywhere, the bruises under his eyes still managing to stand out in the mess. His hair is sweaty and dirty, but she doesn’t hesitate to brush her fingers through the dark strands.

“Is this self-induced or did they give you something?” She hates calling him on his intoxication, but she knows from the years of her…whatever it is… with Killian that he couldn’t handle mixing some things with others. Especially not the stuff they forced on him. “Do you need-”

Killian shakes his head quickly and then buries his face against her stomach. His arms come up to wrap around her waist, the weight of his hook pressing into the back of her left him. “I’m sorry.” He mutters against the fabric of her nightshirt, his District Four accent coming in thicker than it has in awhile. He pulls back to give her a heartbroken look. “I know I shouldn’t have come. That I need to let you be,” He presses his lips against her middle. “But I couldn’t…Emma…I couldn’t…”

“Shhhh,” Emma sighs, brushing her fingers through his hair again. When she reaches the ends, she tugs a little to draw his attention up to her. He looks at her openly, a broken man who trusts her completely with whatever decision she makes. It is such an overwhelming feeling to see and even knowing she should stop it, yet she can’t. “Let’s sleep, okay?”

He closes his eyes and nods. His incoordination makes it a little hard to do, but shortly, Emma has him stripped down to his undershirt and underwear and is easing him underneath the thick comforter of her bed. She settles in next to him, on her back, and he immediately curls up against her, head resting on her chest.

It doesn’t take long for the the sensation of tears soaking through the thin fabric of her shirt to follow.

—–

For one reason or another, the loss of her second tribute that year hits her harder than it normally would. She thought she had grown numb to the feelings of another child dying on her watch, but she hasn’t. She storms out of the observation room of the Tribute Center where the mentors gather to watch the Games, fighting tears as she storms down the long suspended walkway connecting the room to the elevator bank. She slams on the up button, needing so desperately to escape to the top floor.

It seems to take an eternity for the doors to open, but when they finally do, Emma flings herself inside and presses frantically at the door close button before she loses the battle against her emotions. She’s ready to release a loud sob just as the doors are about to ease shut when a familiar flash of metal catches the light. The hook wedged in the space between the doors causes them to slide back open.

Killian stands there, watching her, that all too dangerous look of concern in his eyes. Emma stares back, certain he’s about to drag her back to the observation room where she should be, despite having nobody left to keep alive. But then he produces a bottle of some unidentified amber liquid from behind his back and shrugs.

“Care to share a drink with me, Swan?”

He says it calmly, like it’s no big deal to share a drink with a fellow mentor. Especially one who has just lost her last charge. And really, it’s not. Not if they go back to the observation room and settle down in front of the large wall of screens displaying various shots of the Games. She nods in acceptance because the need to escape is only won out by her need to be close to Killian. In a safe space. Where they can be without question.

Only he’s joining her in the elevator before she can step out. He presses at the door close button with the curve of his hook, and then settles back against the glass as the doors slide closed, this time with nothing to impede them. She stares at him, her green eyes wide.

Killian doesn’t look at her, though. Instead he focuses his attention on the bottle, wedging the cork at the top between his teeth and starting to tug. It takes a few extra tugs, but finally the cork comes free with a pop. He spits it into the corner without much of a care and then takes a pull from the bottle.

“Killian…” Emma sighs. They can’t do this. It’s one thing to mingle in a place the other mentors are. Another entirely for a mentor from an opposing district to follow another to their floor, alone. It’s not like comfort after a difficult night with a patron. During the Games, they are rivals. Enemies even.

He swallows and nods. “Aye, love, I know. Bad form to partake first,” He finally looks at her, a fire behind his eyes as he hold the bottle out to her. “Especially when the lady needs it more.”

Emma looks from him, to the bottle, then back. She tries to harden her look, tries to tell him that he needs to go back downstairs. One of his tributes is still alive. He _shouldn’t_ be there with her.

“Have we ever really been bound by rules, Emma?” Killian whispers softly, stepping closer, the bottle still offered to her in his ring-clad grasp. He’s so close she half thinks he’ll kiss her. But he just stares at her, waiting for her to make the final move. It’s her choice. Nothing in her life has been her choice, except when she’s with Killian Jones.

She takes the bottle and brings it to her lips.

—–

A near hysterical laugh bubbles its way out of her at the Quarter Quell announcement the following summer.  The one that states that the special twist in this Quell is tributes are to be reaped from the districts’ existing victors. It earns her a bewildered glare from August, the victor who had taken her away from the family home in District Twelve when she was a child for some reason that nobody could seem to make sense of. The only other living victor of their district besides her.

“You really think this is funny, Emma?” He gasps, staring at her like she has gone mad. “This means we’re both going back into the Games.”

Her laughter continues unchecked because she knows if she stops, she’ll start crying. Because she knows that it’s not just her and August going back into the Games. She knows this is her - their - punishment for playing with a force they knew they never should’ve messed around with.

—-

It’s as if the long lost gods of old, the ones she’s read about from before the Dark Days on the holos in the Capitol, are weeping the day the districts send their beloved celebrities to slaughter again. The skies open up just past midnight and don’t relent even as the reapings in District 1 get underway.

Emma swears the deluge is the strongest at the District Four reaping, but it could be the blur of her own tears that makes it seem that way. She watches Tinkerbelle, the District Four escort, walk to the podium through the downpour, her usually vibrant blond curls plastered down around her neck. She usually gives off a fairy like quality, bouncing between the bowls and chirping out the names with a cheeky smile. All an act, of course. Tink hates sending people off to slaughter as much as the rest of them, Emma knows, but it’s either play it by how President Mills (and Gamemaker Stitlskin) want it, or suffer the consequences. Today, Tinkerbelle just looks downtrodden. It’s hard not to when you’re sending people you actually know to their deaths.

The female tribute is called first. Emma closes her eyes, a pang in her chest, as Tink reads out Ariel’s name. It’s sad. Ariel is a nice girl, only a couple years out from her first Games. Still too young to be paraded around for the greedy Capitol citizens. Emma opens her eyes to watch Ariel walk up the steps with her head held high.

It’s as if time comes to an agonizing crawl after that. It seems to take forever for Tink to make it to the bowl filled with the names of all of District Four’s male victors. There’s quite a few to go around, it being a Career district and all. The odds of it being any one of them are higher than those in other districts.

Emma doesn’t feel so confident.

A crack of lightning flashes across the sky just as Tink’s small hand reaches in the bowl, as if some sick and twisted poet is writing in real time everything happening before Emma on the screen. She feels her heart start to hammer hard against her ribs. She isn’t even sure she breathes in the time it takes the petite blond, her green dress soaked through, to make it back to the microphone.

“And the male tribute from District Four is…” There’s a heavy silence, broken only by the storm raging through the district, as Tink struggles with the soggy strip of paper. The moment she makes out the name, she glances up, eyes wide, face stricken. And Emma knows. Knows she’d been right all along.

“Killian Jones.” Tink’s voice is pained as she says his name allowed and shouts erupt from the crowd. Some in agony over their most popular victor going back into a death match, some in elation over such a strong contender being among the twenty-four destined to fight.

Emma pays no attention to any of it. All she sees, as she moves closer to the screen, is Killian step from the gathered male tributes on the stage, making his way towards the center. Emma can feel August watching her intently, but she doesn’t care.

All she cares about is the man the camera zooms in on, his blue eyes staring straight ahead. There’s a calculating, cold look in his eyes. He doesn’t look at the crowd. He focuses in on the camera, angry determination making him stand rigid, the muscle ticking away in his jaw. And even though there’s no way he can possibly see her, she feels as if he’s looking straight through the camera to her.

The flash of the lightening that follows then glints off the metal of his dripping hook.

—–

Every victor is aware of the rooftop on the training center, so Emma is both shocked and relieved to find it empty when she makes her way up there, the half empty bottle of amber drink clenched tightly in her hand. She waves her hand in some gesture of thanks to whoever gave her this miniscule blessing in what’s left of her miserable life and then takes a take a few unsteady steps towards the little garden that’s been up here as long as she’s been coming to the Capitol.

She ungracefully throws herself down next to the potted whatevers and slugs heartily from the bottle. It’s the eve of the Games and she knows she shouldn’t be doing this to herself but she has nothing left to give in way of caring. Nothing. Nobody.

Killian, her friend and ally and whatever else they were all these years they’ve been victors together, has left her high and dry. It seems that whatever was between them meant nothing when Killian had to choose between her and his life. She had expected they would be allies in the arena as they’d been in life the past ten odd years, but he’s been nothing but cold and almost cruel to her since all the second-time tributes had stepped off the train.

It is a betrayal of the worst kind, one that pierces Emma to the core. Instead of her, Killian has aligned himself with his own district partner, Ariel, and David Nolan out of District One. She’s known Killian and David, who’d always gone by Charming among the victor crowd and was sort of a living legend among them, have always been close. But she didn’t think it was something stronger than what is between her and Killian. Nothing is supposed to be stronger than that.

Okay yeah, she isn’t a great swordsman like the two of them. But she can hold her own. More so than she’d ever seen Ariel do in her games. So the little redhead had outswam everyone in her Games in order to win, but what if the new arena has no water to outswim anyone? What good would she be to Killian then? Emma has her tricks. She’d won her games with her tricks. Tricks she’s never told anyone about, not even Killian, for fear of what could happen to him if he knew. Tricks she _would’ve_ told him about if he’d just allied with her like she’d figured he would.

Taking another drag from the bottle, Emma starts pulling the pretty useless flowers out of the pots by their roots. She can’t help her thoughts slipping to August briefly, and she feels a pang of guilt. He hasn’t abandoned her like the rest. She isn’t _really_ alone. But he’d won his games by cunning and manipulation, something every one of their enemies is aware of. They all knew of his schemes and his trickery. And when she considers he’s handicapped by a fake leg… he doesn’t make for the greatest of allies. Not like Killian would.

She scowls, sipping from the bottle before flopping down onto her back. She stares up at the hazy pink sky, thinking about how this could very well be her last sunset. Dirt clinging to her fingers, bottle still clenched in the others, Emma closes her eyes and drifts into blackness.

The sensation of being carried brings her back to consciousness some indiscernible time later. Believing it the Capitol to be carting her away to her death, she fights whoever is ferrying her down the steps, not even bothering to open her eyes to see her grim reaper.

“Bloody hell.” A familiar voice grunts as her shins ram up against a wall, her struggling sending him stumbling sideways. “Stop squirming.”

Emma’s eyes squint open and she stares up hazily at the red-tinged scruff along a chiseled jaw she’d recognize anywhere, drunk or not. “Killian…”

His blue eyes find her green and he gives her a soft smile. “Aye, love.” He eases them down so they’re both sitting on the floor in whatever hallway of the Tribute Center he’s toting her through. It allows him to bring his good hand to brush the hair from her eyes, his gaze a mix of disappointment and concern. “You’ve done quite a number on yourself, haven’t you?”

“You abandoned me.” Emma’s tongue is thick from whatever was in that bottle of his she’s kept for a year, and she knows her defense of her actions sounds more petulant than anything else.

Killian looks at her with a tenderness she’s never seen before. “No, Emma.” He whispers, his knuckles brushing up against her cheek to wipe at the tears that have slipped out. “I’d never abandon you.”

—–

Knowing Killian’s reputation is one thing. She’s watched his Games, has spent the last decade spending much of her time with him, but seeing him in action in the arena is nothing she can prepare herself for. There’s no way to describe him other than ‘ruthless’. He knows how to kill, and he knows how to do it well.

She watches with rapt interest as he slices his hook through the District Two victor she’s only ever known as ‘Silver’, the man’s intestines spilling out all over Killian’s boots. There’s the tiniest hint of enjoyment in Killian’s eyes as he watches the life quickly drain from the weathered face in front of him. They’d had history, Emma knows. And not the good kind.

As the sound of canon fire blasts overhead, Killian turns back towards Emma and the others, his hook making a sickening sort of squish when pulled from Silver’s insides as he does so. It causes Ariel to gasp and David and August to groan, all looking away from the carnage. Merida, the other addition to their alliance, merely makes a disgusted face at the sight. Emma can’t decide if it’s because of what Killian has done or because she hasn’t put Silver down herself.

Killian glares down in annoyance at the mess all over his boots. He shakes one then the other, absently wiping his hook over his vest. Like slicing through people is more of an inconvenience than anything else. It should have terrified her, his nonchalance over killing, but Emma knows the truth. She knows the toll it takes on him, when he’s free to let his walls down. He carries the weight of everyone he’s killed. He always will.

The juxtaposition of the man she knows in private and the man before her causes something to unleash inside her and before Emma can stop herself, she’s stepping over the bodies of the other fallen tributes they’d fought. Killian looks up at her in time, having just sheathed his sword, for her to throw herself at him. He stumbles back in slight shock at the kiss she plants on his lips, before wrapping his hand around her back and steadying her while easily melding his lips to hers.

“I’m fairly certain that wasn’t commendable behavior, Swan.” He whispers when she pulls away with a tug at his bottom lip.

“I’m fairly certain you need to shut up.” She teases back before kissing him again.

—–

It all happens so fast.

One minute they’re fighting another band of enemy tributes, the next she’s thrown backwards by some unknown force. She feels her head slam against the side of a rock and then a ringing starts in her ears. The world around her goes sideways. Over the ringing, she thinks she hears people calling her name, but she can’t be sure.

A shadow looms over her a moment later and she squints at the blurry figure, unsure if it’s friend or foe. She starts to reach her hand up toward them when a sword is thrust through their chest and blood from the wound drips down onto her already grime-covered tunic. She follows the path of the body as it’s flung to the side harshly. Then there’s a dizzying shifting of the world as she’s hauled upwards. She groans, unsure if the meager bit of rabbit she’d had for breakfast, courtesy of Merida, was going to make a reappearance.

“Emma!” Killian’s face is suddenly right before hers and she blinks stupidly. “Stay with me.” He commands, his voice far louder than she finds comfortable.

“Not goin’ anywhere.” Her words slur slightly. Like she’s back on the roof downing the rest of whatever was in that bottle. She’s going to have to ask him what it was one day. One day when she isn’t so ready to collapse and close her eyes.

She starts to, but Killian’s gentle caress on her face brings her back from the brink. “No, no, darling. Stay awake. I need you to stay awake a little while longer, okay?” He insists gently, though she think he sounds almost desperate too. The buzzing in her ears makes it hard to tell for sure. His grips lightly at her chin to get her to focus on him, the chaos of battle continuing on around them.

“I think it’s time for you to do what you do best.”

Her brow furrows in confusion. “Wha..?”

“Your magic, love.”

This snaps her out of her stupor somewhat and she jerks up with a gasp. “How do you…”

Killian smiles mischievously. “I’ve known for a while now, Emma.” His gazes at her fondly when she looks at him in wonder, then it’s drawn upwards briefly as something gets his attention behind her. When he looks back at her, the tender, loving look is gone and replaced by one of pure desperation. No mistaking it this time. “And right now, you need to use it.”

“But Killian, I can’t control…” She starts to feel the tiredness hit her harder than before and sinks lower in his grasp.

He gives her a gentle shake to keep her conscious. “Yes you can, Emma. I’ve seen it. Your first Games. I’ve seen the footage the Capitol tried to destroy. I have faith in you, Swan. You can do it. We need you to do it or we’re all going to die.”

Some sort of explosion causes the dirt to explode just inches beside them, but Emma can’t seem to focus on that. All she can focus on is the look in Killian’s eyes. The look of need. Of hope. Of love.

The tingling sensation starts in the base of her spine. She wraps her fingers tightly around Killian’s hook, pulling herself up slightly. The last thing she sees, before letting her eyes slide closed and the wave of energy rip it’s way out of her, is those eyes.

—–

It’s weeks later when she is finally able to stay awake long enough to discover the truth of everything that had happened. Not just in the arena, but every moment leading up to it. Starting with her birth.

Her name is Emma Swan,  and she’s the daughter of two renowned victors - the famed Star-Crossed Lovers Snow White and Charming. The daughter the nation had thought Snow had lost in miscarriage, but had really been secretly shipped off to a district where she could be safe and grow up undetected until she was ready to become who she was born to be - the Savior. The one who would come along and destroy the Mills reign of terror. The very person a rebellion had been built around. The rebellion that rescued them from the arena. That alone sends her already sensitive head spinning, but finding out everyone in her life has known who she is all along, is what sends her overboard.

August, the man deemed her protector in Twelve, who revealed her true identity to the Capitol on the eve of the Reaping she’d been selected in, to save his own skin. She’s always figured she’d been reaped because she was associated to him. Now she knew he was the direct cause of it. The words he had whispered to her, dying under the trees of the Enchanted Forest arena, now make sense to her - _‘I’m sorry I failed you, Emma.’_

President Regina Mills and Head Gamemaker Rumplestiltskin had know who she was since she was sixteen. She doesn’t have to wonder anymore about why she’s always seemed like a special target for both of their sick and twisted games.

Snow White and Charming, the two older victors who had always seemed so unsettled in her presence. Like her being in the Capitol had pained them. Now Emma knows it actually did. All this time, she’s figured her parents had abandoned her because they knew she was one of the magic freaks always hunted by President Mills. When they’d been in front of her, silently watching over her from a close distance, for years. No wonder David had looked so perturbed after she’d kissed Killian in the arena…

And then there’s Killian Jones. The man currently standing at the foot of her hospital bed, unable to meet her gaze as she gives him a hard glare. When she’d asked everyone to step out a short time earlier, she’d all but demanded he stay.

“So have you known who I really was all these years we’ve known each other ?” She utters quietly.

He shakes his head. “No.”

“How long?”

Killian lets out a sigh. “Emma…” His voice is pained.

“How. long?” She questions again, her voice raising.

He lets out another sigh, this one in defeat. “A little over a year.”

“A year…” She repeats, mulling over the revelation. Thinking about how everything had suddenly seemed to really change between them only a short year before. Her throat starts to constrict when she realizes. Her glance falls to the sterile white blanket covering her legs. “So is that why you’re… feelings for me… this past year… it was a trick. For the rebellion.”

“Emma, no.” Whatever feeling or emotion had kept Killian quiet and far away from her flees him and and he’s suddenly moving to her side. “You and I, that wasn’t trickery. I swear it. It’s never been. What I’ve felt for you has been growing since the day I first saw you in the Capitol, all those years ago. I strived to stay your friend, but nothing more, to keep you safe from Regina and that monster Gamemaker. As vicious as the literal crocodile that took my hand, he is.”

He reaches out and hovered his hand over hers, waiting to see what she would do. Again leaving the choice up to her. Like he always has.

She turns her hand over and laced her fingers through his, finally looking at him. He smiles, though it is a pained, guilty one.

“It seems my ever growing feelings for you weren’t as well hidden as I had hoped. Regina and Rumple had found out and I thought their malicious treatment of you was because of me. I didn’t know your true identity until the night that Crocodile whisked me away from you last year. Once he’d left me with my _patron_ ,” He spits the word like it’s poison. “I was told, in no uncertain terms, that I was to be a part of the rebellion then and that I’d be pulling you in without revealing who you actually were. Or there would be consequences.”

Emma frowns. “Consequences. But I thought these people are the good guys?” She is still angry with him, but she can see how difficult bearing this burden has been for him. And judging by his words, their long-term connection to one another is the only solid thing she can bet on for now.

“Your parents, certainly, and many of the others. But some pulling the strings, the ones who believe they have been the biggest assets in helping this rebellion grow…” He grimaces and shrugs. “They don’t see me as much of a hero like the rest of them. I’m a villain they need. The monster they could tame because of who he loves.”

“Why would they see you as a villain, Killian?” She shakes her head. Maybe it’s the still present head trauma making it hard to grasp the concept, but it seems absurd. Especially since the rebels had apparently entrusted Killian with the fate of their prophesized Savior.

Killian smiles, though it was anything but cheerful. “You saw me in action, Swan. I have no problem with killing. It was if I was made for the Games. Hand picked by the Capitol to show how well the system works.” He shrugs again, feigning indifference. “Why do you think it took them so long to bring me into all this? They didn’t want me until I was close to you.”

Emma watches him closely, sees the way he’s trying to pass it off like it’s no big deal. Like he hasn’t traded his old masters for new ones. Like they both haven’t.

“So we’ve both been pawns then.”

Killian looks up from where he’s been staring at their clasped hands. “Aye.”

She squeezes his fingers tight, using her other hand to wrap around his hook. “I don’t think you’re a monster, Killian. Or a villain.” He smiles weakly at her words and she tugs a little on his hook to emphasize that she means it. “We’ve all done some terrible things to get here and I won’t let them use the same past they have against you simply because you know how to stay alive.”

Tears slip down her cheeks and it matches the shine in his eyes. “They were right about one, though.” At that, the signature eyebrow quirk of his is back. She shrugs one shoulder. “I wouldn’t be here without you. Despite what they may think or say, I know the best in you. And I’m gonna choose to see that. I choose you, Killian.”

His smile this time is stronger, more genuine than she’s seen since she’d awoken in this strange place. He breaks the hold between their hands and brings his up to rest against her cheek.

“And I you, Emma. Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to hit me up on tumblr at pirateherokillian.


End file.
